


The Path to the Bedroom is Paved with Cheese

by pervybynight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, Canon Angst Leads to Shmoop, Chubby Dean, Feeding Kink, Fluff, M/M, Shmoop, Weight Gain, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 14:16:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3532415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pervybynight/pseuds/pervybynight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam feeds Dean; Dean likes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Path to the Bedroom is Paved with Cheese

Of course Dean had threatened it before, they both had. But how do you tell all the times it’s a threat from the time that it's real, until it _is_ real? 

It came after some hunters had discovered Garth and his benevolent pack. Sam and Dean had tried to reason with them—to explain that good and evil no longer came neatly contained in column A or column B.

Those ignorant dicks, though, saw life in absolutes, in black and white; now Garth was gone too.

A day of mourning spent in front of revolving news channels only helped solidify Dean’s resolve. New wars popping up around the world, in countries Dean didn’t even know existed. The conflicts starting in the name of gods that were supposed to bring love and guidance, over basics like food and water. Children missing, murdered by their own mothers. 

Humans, demons; good, evil—where do you draw the line?

From where Dean sat it looked like a hopeless jumble, and he had untangled more than his share of Christmas lights; he was done.

So when Sam finally made it back to the bunker, takeout bag and cold beers in hand, Dean’s final proclamation was made.

“I’m done, Sammy,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Done?” Sam asked, eyebrows raised, handing him a bottle.

“All of it. Done. Finished. Terminado. I quit. I retire. No more demons, no more hellhounds, no more fucking _humans_. I’m done.” Then he took a swig so deep it nearly emptied the bottle. 

“Hmm,” was all Sam could offer, because of course he’d heard that before. He’d _said_ that before, and before it was never final.

Only this time it was.

“You do what you need to, Sam. Find a new partner. Find a girl. Get that law degree—no grief from me. But I am done. I’m gonna catch up on all the movies I’ve missed, all the home-cooked meals and full-nights of sleep. I’m gonna get old and fat and happy. Starting now.” He reached for the takeout container, picked up the remote, and flipped through channels.

Sam did the only thing there was to do: he waited for the ship to right itself. 

He did research, looked for cases, and caught up on the reading he’d stacked away. In all honesty, he initially enjoyed the lull as much as Dean.

Time went by, though. Sam started getting the urge. A case, maybe, in Kalamazoo; something not-quite-right in Toledo. However, when he casually floated these by Dean, Dean wouldn’t budge.

“I’m done, Sammy. For real.”

The urge didn’t seem to be touching Dean at all, and he even started to cobble together a life. 

He started cooking and watching movies. He officially came out of the geek closet and spent time away from the bunker LARPing with Charlie. Most unthinkable of all, though, Dean was cheating on Baby. He’d been spending his evenings with a 1966 Belvedere Hemi, restoring it bit by bit, while the Impala sat parked nearby.

Ordinarily Sam would have been convinced this was Dean having a nervous breakdown. 

Except for one obvious fact: 

Dean was happy.

Have you ever seen Dean happy?

Not just in a moment of happiness, but actually happy—with life, with himself, at peace with the world?

No. 

Of course not.

Not even Sam had.

A Happy Dean is a beautiful, astounding thing to behold.

Can you _imagine_ it?

Go ahead. Try to.

All of Dean’s passionate anger and misery, his disappointment and self-loathing metamorphosed into exuberant joy and warmth, tenderness and affection.

Sam found himself even more in love.

Instead of stumbling out of bed each morning only to find Dean sipping whiskey from a tumbler, Sam would awake to the smell of cranberry-walnut bread, apple-pie pancakes, and blackberry French toast. 

At night, instead of giving Sam a silent, furtive, guilt-laden handjob under the covers before falling into a restless sleep, Dean started making love to Sam.

Love.

The first time they were pleasantly full from one of Dean’s dinners. Just sitting side-by-side on the couch, watching Dean’s newest obsession—Netflix. Dean reached across the cushion for Sam’s hand and held it. Just held it.

Dean holding Sam’s hand. 

The surge of warmth that shot through Sam gave him a heady, buzzing feeling. 

Then Dean gently squeezed it—a series of coded pulses known only to him, but Sam could guess their meaning and squeezed his own code back.

When the episode ended, instead of hitting “next,” Dean gently tugged Sam’s hand.

“Come over here, Sammy,” he said with all the emotion and passion and desire Sam had always wanted. Dean pulled Sam onto his lap, and once his arms were wrapped around Sam it only got better.

Soft, teasing kisses up Sam’s neck. So arousing all Sam could do was tilt his head back and moan.

A neck! How is a _neck_ capable of feeling so much pleasure?

Dean moved his attention up to Sam’s chin, to his scruffy cheeks, softly sucking against the grain of Sam’s stubble. Sam was a puddle. 

Finally—finally—he reached Sam’s lips. First he nibbled the bottom lip, soft and dry kisses with just the slightest pinch on the dismount. Then he gave Sam a full, deep mouthful. Hot and wet and enveloping Sam’s mouth. Forceful enough that Sam thought for a moment his insides, his essence, his very soul was in danger of being pulled through his mouth. But a second before the pressure became too much, before pleasure became pain, before he passed out from oxygen deprivation, Dean backed off and resumed soft, sweet pecks to Sam’s lips.

Dean broke away and squished his own stubbly cheeks against Sam’s and whispered, “Oh god, Sammy, your lips...I can't get enough of them.”

That was it. 

Their boundary. 

The line in the sand. 

And Dean had crossed it.

Committing their affections, their acts, into actual words was _not_ something they did.

Sam, though, ever the Pavlovian, couldn’t let it go unrewarded. 

He covered Dean’s mouth with his own and gave Dean the kind of rough mouth play that Dean loved. As Dean’s tongue poked its way around Sam’s mouth, jousting against Sam’s tongue, Sam caught hold of it with the whole of his mouth. He sucked and tugged on the muscle until Dean’s expression read pure bliss.

Sam lowered his hand down to the bulge in Dean’s jeans and rubbed his cock through the fabric. Once he was certain Dean was as aroused as could be, he let his mouth release its sucking, pulling hold on Dean's tongue and let the wet, sloppy kisses resume. 

Did they make it to the bedroom that night?

Of course.

Happy Dean is a giving and delicate lover, and he would certainly need room to spread Sam out to please every foot of that giant body.

____________

Dean kept up with the cooking outside of the bedroom, as well.

Was that a double helping of cheese? Oh, get ready!

It seemed to Sam that one day Dean suddenly remembered he liked pie. When Sam had returned from one of his runs, a rhubarb-strawberry with a shortbread crust had suddenly appeared in the kitchen.

Sam’s heart rate was still elevated and his body was covered in sweat, but that didn’t even give Dean pause. He came at him with a forkful.

“Taste this,” his fork already touching Sam’s lips.

“Umm,” Sam mumbled through a mouth filled with sweet, tangy crumbly yumminess. “That’s amazing,” he got out after he managed to swallow. 

“I know,” Dean said, as he took a forkful for himself.

And, like that, Dean had a new thing: pies.

Well, _baking_ pies.

Almost daily a new pie would be cooling on the counter. Dean would make Sam sample an occasional bite. However, never one to experience the gnawing ache of a sweet tooth, Sam gave little thought to where these daily creations ended up.

Until one day, he looked up from his reading just to watch Dean.

Dean was enjoying a slice of simple blueberry pie he’d made that afternoon. And suddenly there they were. The pies. Sam could see every one of them. 

Dean not only looked happier, but he looked softer. Rounder. His cheeks, which had been sharp and sunken for so long, looked full, almost chubby and his formerly flat, empty belly was a happy round pillow pushing out his t-shirt and resting over his belt. Sam knew for sure that this was where the daily pies had been going. The sight made him smile.

Dean finished his slice and guiltlessly helped himself to another.

The thought of a pudgy, happy Dean who could sit around and eat as much pie as he pleased was more than Sam could take. He silently closed his book, got up from his chair, and walked up behind Dean. 

“Hey, want some? It’s blueberry.”

No. No, Sam did not want pie, but he knew what he did want.

“No thanks,” he whispered as he came up close behind Dean. He wrapped his arms around Dean from behind, and clasped his hands over Dean’s softened chest. His lips slid up the back of Dean’s neck until his ear was in danger of being nibbled.

“But,” Sam said, teeth tugging on the lobe, “I’ll take a slice of you.”

Cheese, cheese! So much cheese! But they were _allowed_ to be cheesy now! They were allowed to cuddle and hold hands and say things like, “Jesus, Sammy, what color are your eyes even? They’re incredible.”

So, it was no surprise when Dean just smiled, slid his chair out from the table, and gave Sam a sincere, “well, come and get it, sweetheart,” as he patted his lap.

Sweetheart! And baby and kitten and LOML—all the cloying, disgusting pet names they were allowed to call each other now! 

Without hesitation, Sam climbed astride Dean’s thighs. Dean spread his legs out to support Sam’s weight, and Sam wrapped his arms around him once again, this time his hands meeting against Dean's soft back. As Sam leaned in to kiss him, he could feel his dick pressing against—no, into!— _into_ Dean’s soft, squishy tum. 

How had he not noticed this before, Sam wondered. The sensation was like his dick was getting a fucking kiss from Dean’s belly, and Sam’s dick _loved_ kisses. It surged to a painful length and girth considering the confines of his pants. 

The affections Sam bestowed upon Dean obviously caused a similar effect on him, because Dean's hand slid beneath the curve of his tummy, the thumb of his fist ever-so-slightly lifting up the softness it found there, and shifted his own junk around. 

Sam leaned in again for another, actual kiss. Soft and sweet. Smooth lips brushing against smooth lips. 

“You taste like blueberries,” Sam said, pulling away from Dean’s mouth

Dean glanced toward the new slice of pie on his plate. All Sam could think of were blueberry kisses and his dick nestled in the softness of Dean’s tummy. 

Sam reached around to grab the plate and fork off the table. 

For a moment Dean looked confused, but when Sam lifted a forkful to Dean’s lips, he opened up without hesitation and swallowed with a smile.

“Mmm,” Dean sighed. “You sure you don’t want some? I could do without that extra slice anyway.” He ran his hands along Sam’s wide shoulders, over his solid pectoral muscles, and rested them on his muscular abdomen. God, Dean loved Sam's abs.

“No, babe, I think I’ll enjoy this more,” Sam said bringing another bite to Dean’s lips.

When the slice was gone, Sam went back in for more sweet, fruity kisses. He let his hands explore Dean’s body. The softness that had settled into his chest, the roll of tummy hanging down over his belt, the extra helping of love handles popping over the sides of his jeans. 

How was he just noticing all of this? He could not wait to explore the rest of Dean—to see what else he had been missing. He could feel his dick trickling in his boxers. 

For his own part, Dean had his hands clamped around the globes of Sam’s ass, and with each little squeeze Dean gave them, Sam thought he’d come in his pants like a 13 year old.

“That was seriously the best pie,” Dean said and started to slide his hand down the waist of Sam’s pants so that his fingers teased a path up and down Sam’s crack.

“I could get you another piece,” Sam said as he thrust his pelvis back and forth—working his cock into Dean’s doughy belly and his ass into Dean’s exploring finger.

Another slice _would_ have been welcome by Dean, especially with Sammy feeding it to him--who fucking knew _that_ would do it for him, eh? He had to decline, though. He might have grown softer and heavier in the last few months, but Sam was still a Sasquatch who easily outweighed him. And, while blood may have been rushing to a certain spot below his belly, it was no longer running to his legs. 

“Sammy,” Dean started, “the only piece I want’s right here.”

And Dean’s exploring finger slid down far enough to meet Sam’s puckered hole. Sam jumped from the sudden burst of stimulation. 

“I see,” he said with a laugh, leaning in for more of Dean’s lips, “ _that’s_ what you want…”

“That’s what I always want, Sammy.” Dean’s finger continued to lightly tease the hole. The pad of his fingertip applied the slightest bit of pressure—not breaching the hole, but testing the muscle surrounding it, teasing it, letting it know what was soon to come. And when he felt the ring begin to tighten around his finger, he returned to just gently stroking it. “Can I have a piece of this, baby?”

Sam looked into his eyes and grinned, amused because Dean always asked with such intensity, but also with a hint of fear in his voice, like Sam might answer with a “no.” But, of course, Sam always said, “yes.”

“Yes, Dean. You can have as much of _that_ as you want.” 

Sam pulled away from him, climbed off his lap, and reached for Dean’s hand, their fingers interlocking. Wordlessly, he pulled Dean off the chair, led him away from the kitchen and toward their bedroom. 

Dean let himself be dragged along. His free hand clutched on to Sammy’s ass, the taste of blueberries still in his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> This should go without saying, but I will say it anyway: when they got to their bedroom, they of course had to coax Sam's giant chocolate lab away from the center of the bed where he had been sprawled out sleeping while his dads were off being idiots as usual.


End file.
